


now that you got an open heart

by mapped



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 2x07, Episode Related, F/F, Masturbation, Oral Sex, black sails mmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/pseuds/mapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max offers Anne the chance to leave. They spend the night together before she does.</p><p>Set during 2x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now that you got an open heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Dove Season' by In the Valley Below.

Anne’s never liked touching herself.

So many things in this world are easy for her, like someone else is making the decisions for her. Killing is easy. There’s no need to think about it. Taking a life is a matter of an instant—one moment there is breath, and the next there is only her knife in their body and soon, no breath at all.

Following Jack is easy. There’s never been any other option: he saved her, she owes him. She’ll always be at his side, and so she doesn’t ask questions, she just walks right behind him and do what he needs doing. Rage is easy: anger is as vital as her own blood. Fucking is easy. Or it has always been with Jack. She touches him without hesitation, grabs his prick when she wants to fuck, ties him down and rides him, makes him lick her cunt. She is his, but he is also hers, and he touches her, fucks her, loves her as best as he knows how. He wants to give her everything, and she’s good at taking whatever he’s willing to give.

But some things Jack can’t give, doesn’t know how to give.

She didn’t really know that until Max. Until Max reached for her lips with a knife at her neck. Until Max unlaced her dress and let Anne look at her body like she wasn’t afraid at all of a woman whose only skill was killing. Until Max touched her hand to Anne’s cheek and said, “You can have me. You can have this. You can _want_ this.”

Suddenly Jack wasn’t enough. Jack, who had always been enough, who had always felt like some kind of gift that Anne had to be grateful for, the only gift she’d ever been given in her life, wasn’t fucking _enough_.

After that first kiss, Max lay her down and kissed her cunt for hours. Max didn’t ask about the sweat-damp shirt that clung stubbornly to Anne’s body. Max fucked her with her tongue and her fingers and then—like she understood that Anne didn’t yet feel ready to reciprocate the way she seemed to understand everything—Max touched herself and let Anne watch, eyes on Anne the entire time. Max didn’t put any fingers inside herself, but her hand rubbed the outside of her cunt, a finger sliding between those lips to part them for a moment and coming away shining wet. With her other hand, she squeezed her full breast, pinching and pulling on the nipple, until Anne’s mouth went dry, dry, and Anne at last couldn’t bear not touching her: so she did, cupping Max’s other breast and amazed at how it felt, its heavy swell filling the hollow of her palm, pleased at the sound it drew from Max, at the way Max looked at her then.

For Anne, touching herself ain’t easy. She’s never had any reason to do it. Jack’s been there for long as she’s ever wanted pleasure, and any pleasure she gets, she gets from him, from his tongue on her cunt, from his fingers inside her. When she wants to come, she makes him make her come. She’s never needed anything else.

But now nothing’s ever enough, and she always wants something else.

Tonight, Max offers her a chance to go away for a while on her own, away from Jack, away from Max, away from Nassau, away. She feels herself smiling for the first time in a long time, thinking of the voyage already: long stretches of night out at sea, night as dark as Max’s hair veiling her and nothing but the lapping of the ocean and the sway of the ship beneath her feet. No Jack. Just herself and the salt air and the stars.

If, once she’s out there, she finds she doesn’t want to come back, she won’t have to. No one will force her.

As she listens to Max outline her plan, Anne finally finishes the soup, scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon, her appetite recovered from somewhere.

“I have already made preparations for the journey so you may leave as soon as you wish,” Max says, putting her hand over Anne’s on the table. “But it is late now, so let us to bed, oui?”

Anne follows her to bed and sheds the dress that is too big for her. She has been naked in front of Max more than once now and it no longer feels strange to have the scars on her back bared to Max. She gets on the bed, lies back against the pillows and watches while Max starts to peel off the layers of her clothing, undoing laces with those clever fingers that have given Anne so much pleasure. Max’s dress hits the ground, and then there is her corset with her tits almost spilling from it. The corset is slowly loosened and those warm brown nipples appear and Anne wants to put her mouth on them. She wants to feel them harden under her tongue—

She puts a hand on her own crotch before she even knows she is doing it, rubs her fingers up and down firmly a few times.

Max’s eyes are caught on her and they light up. “Oui, ma chérie, touch yourself for me,” she says, smiling, all gentle. She takes the pins out of her hair and runs a brush through it, those gorgeous soft curls that she takes such good care of and drenches in fragrant oils. Max helped Anne wash her hair earlier so it looks clean and smells clean now, but it’ll be dirty again soon, no doubt about it. Anne doesn’t ever bother to make it look nice like Max does.

Max’s eyes are still on Anne and Anne wants to take her hand away because she doesn’t do this, she doesn’t touch herself ever, but Max is _looking_ and Anne can’t look away, can barely even breathe. Her hand stays where it is, a finger dipping inside herself. She likes having something inside her and is always impatient for the feeling. Unlike Max, she’s learnt, who doesn’t really like having anything inside her at all.

Shit, how the _fuck_ does Max manage to do everything so—so _seductively_? Like every little movement is a prelude to fucking. A tight curl of that glossy black hair wound round and round her fingers before she lets go of it and it springs back. The hairbrush teasing all the way down through her long tresses until the rough bristles of it move over her nipple and she gasps.

“For fuck’s sake Max, come _here_ ,” Anne growls. She wants to feel Max’s skin against hers.

Max says, “Promise me you’ll keep touching yourself if I do.” 

“I ain’t gonna stop, promise,” Anne says. “Just come here.”

Max walks over to the bed and lies down next to Anne, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. Anne sighs at the heat of that contact, turns her head and buries her nose in Max’s perfumed hair. She may not have a very refined appreciation of these things but Max sure smells fucking good all the time. She smooths her left hand over Max’s body, from hipbone up over Max’s belly and over her tits, tugging at a nipple.

Max moans. Anne loves the noises that Max makes when they fuck, so pretty and generous like even these sounds are a pleasure to be shared between them, not like the grunts Anne’s known from men which might as well be noises of displeasure as much as pleasure.

Max turns her head too so their mouths meet, a thrill that shudders through the whole of Anne’s body. Max turns more fully to lie on her side, and slides one of Anne’s legs between her own, grinding her cunt against Anne’s thigh as they continue to kiss. Max’s body is always so soft and yielding, like her whole body is inviting Anne to touch.

Anne pushes another finger inside herself. She’s surprised at how different it feels to fuck herself like this: she’s so much more aware of every stroke, the drag of her fingers inside herself, the pressure of her cunt squeezing around them.

Max pours a cascade of French words into her ear, and Anne doesn’t speak French but she can just about gather what Max is saying, something about how beautiful she is. Anyone else telling her that would make Anne want to punch something, but when it comes to Max—it ain’t the same. Max ain’t the same.

Jack didn’t choose Anne but maybe—maybe she can live with that, if she gets this. Maybe this is a gift, too, and not one she has to spend her life trying to repay.

She feels herself flush red, and Max kisses her hot cheek, her jaw, her neck. Both of Max’s hands are on her tits, massaging them, and Anne arches up into the touch, rolling her hips as she fucks herself with two fingers.

“Does that feel good?” Max asks.

Anne huffs. As if Max needed to ask. But she answers “yeah” anyway.

She didn’t know how good this could feel: just as good as having someone else touch her. It’s so different, to feel how wet she is, to feel the clench of her own cunt so directly. She grinds the heel of her palm against herself and abandons herself to the feeling, to Max’s mouth sucking at the skin on her neck. Max’s hands roam over her body, her touches light, down to where Anne’s thighs are spread, her right leg still held in between Max’s. She can feel the wetness of Max’s cunt on her. Max strokes up and down her left thigh with her hand, scratching the nail of her thumb along the skin, digging it in. Anne breathes in sharply.

“I want to see you make yourself come,” Max murmurs, like she knows Anne has never. She probably does know. Damn Max, she sees everything somehow. 

“I wanna see you come,” Anne bites back. Max coming is always a sight.

“Patience, ma chère,” Max says. “You first.”

Max moves down to kiss her thighs, more teeth than anything the way she knows Anne likes it, her nose bumping into Anne’s thrusting hand. She catches Anne’s skin between her teeth and pulls, and Anne curls her fingers hard and comes soundlessly, her thigh trembling against Max’s mouth.

“Fuck, Max,” Anne says, shakily pulling out her fingers. Max takes her hand and puts Anne’s wet fingers in her mouth. She sucks them clean, smiling around them.

“Fuck,” Anne swears again, then pushes Max down to lick Max’s cunt until Max tugs at her hair and her moans get loud and stuttered the way they do when she’s coming.

Anne rolls over to lie on her side next to Max, to see Max’s chest heaving as she tries to get her breath back, the beads of sweat on her neck.

“I will miss you,” Max says, when her breathing has slowed, her fingers playing with the ends of Anne’s hair. She hasn’t asked Anne whether she plans to come back. Like she just trusts Anne will do what she has to do and that’s good enough for her.

 _All men betray when it suits them_ , Anne had said just before she’d slit that Walrus man’s neck, but Max—she has a feeling Max would never. She remembers the awful satisfaction of driving that knife into that whore’s body again and again—what was her name? _Charlotte_ , she hears in Max’s voice. She hadn’t thought at all. Killing is like that. No thought. Then she’d crouched in the corner of that room and done nothing but thought and hurt, hurt like the knife was in her own body, thinking about Jack’s stupid wincing face and his fucking meaningless apologies—and there was all that blood on the floor and on her face, but Max had walked in and looked at her and refused to look away.

Max is still looking at her now, Max is always looking at her, and she’s never been scared of Anne, even though she has every reason to be. Even though Anne once put a knife to her throat.

Something in her is still angry and her hands still itch for the hilt of a blade she can plunge into someone else’s flesh. But tomorrow she will leave, and maybe she’ll decide never to come back. She doesn’t know anymore whether she’s angry at Jack or just _angry_ , angry at this life for what it made her into. But if she never comes back, she’ll remember her last night in Nassau like this: Max’s fingers laced with hers, Max’s dark eyes looking at her and seeing her like no one has ever seen her.

Never mind Jack. If she’s honest with herself, _this_ ain’t something she can walk away from forever either.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://reluming.tumblr.com/)! Comments are much appreciated. <3


End file.
